


behind muted microphones

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hears some surprising things when Merlin forgets to mute his microphone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	behind muted microphones

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [raythrill's](http://raythrill.tumblr.com/) hilarious and perfect [comic](http://merlahad.tumblr.com/post/124876727128/raythrill-inspired-by-merlahads-tags-they-are), which, funnily enough, was inspired by my own tags on another merlahad [comic](http://merlahad.tumblr.com/post/124765899044/askmerlinngalahad-merlin-coughs) xD (You should also check out the rest of raythrill's kingsman art!!) 
> 
> The song referenced below is called _[Distant Drums](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AqESKOaeGk)_ by Jim Reeves. Mark Strong sings [a couple of lines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KqF9F4V1Nk) from it in the TV show, _Our Friends in the North_.

_Drip._

_Drip. Drip._

Harry frowns, taking a moment to scowl at the pipe above him for almost leaking its shit on his shoe. Like the rest of the building, the plumbing is old, dilapidated, and—to put it simply, gross. Another drop falls, and he returns his gaze to the floor just in time to see the opaque liquid coalescing into a small puddle.

A small puddle with rust particles floating to the surface.   

Gross, _and_ unhygienic, Harry amends, considering the increased risk of tetanus or other waterborne diseases in such an environment.

The creases on his forehead deepen as he knits his brows together, suddenly aware of the tangential direction his thoughts have taken. Low-risk missions tend to have that effect on him. Not for the first time, he wishes for Merlin’s presence to anchor him, even if it’s just the sound of Merlin’s even, gentle breathing transmitting through the Kingsman-issue technology.

By default, the glasses provide a direct audio and visual link to HQ, the tailor shop, and other authorised devices, so Merlin can keep tabs on his mission when necessary. However, protocol doesn’t require Merlin to maintain open communications on his end for the entirety of a low-risk mission. And yet, he does it sometimes. Not as often as Harry would prefer, but he’ll take sometimes over never. After all—and he’ll never admit this to Merlin, not if he can help it—he’s missed doing fieldwork together with Merlin.

As a Knight, Merlin’s fighting style centred on tactics and strategy: pinpointing weaknesses and strengths of the enemy, and discerning the most effective way to use the weaknesses to their advantages, and to counter the enemy’s strengths. The calculating and analytical approach served as a good counterpoint to Harry’s own methods—and on countless occasions, it saved his sorry arse. And although his friend and colleague has continued to watch his back ever since he rescinded his position as a Knight in favour of becoming Kingsman’s Quartermaster, Merlin is no longer there by his side.

Instead, Merlin remains an intermittent presence in his ear, providing essential information and instructions for the success of the mission. It’s certainly—different.

“I’ve surveyed your surroundings for heat signatures, Galahad,” Merlin’s voice carries across their connection. “There is only one man to take down on your way. Get on to it.”

Harry chances a quick peek around the corner, gauging his opponent. True to Merlin’s word, one man stands about fifteen metres away, waiting, brandishing a baseball bat on his shoulder. Small fry. At this rate, he won’t even need to use the guns concealed under his suit jacket, nestled in his shoulder holsters. “Alright, it shouldn’t take longer than a minute,” he says quietly, knowing the enhanced sensitivity of the inbuilt microphone will ensure Merlin hears him loud and clear on the other end.

Not one to stall before an impending fight, Harry squares his shoulders and breathes deeply, poised and about to take the first step.

And then he hears it, loud and clear.

_I hear the sound of distant drums…_

He stops, midstride, confused. The singer carries on, the voice rich and melodic.

_Far away, far away…_

It’s Merlin. Harry shakes his head, chuckling softly. Of course it’s Merlin—who else would it be? Besides, he’d recognise that distinct Scottish brogue anywhere. The daft man has forgotten to mute his microphone, and is now singing with as much unrestraint and passion one usually reserves for solo concerts in the shower.

Now that he’s over the initial shock and confusion, Harry’s tickled pink because of what he’s learnt. Merlin— _the_ Merlin who can hack into heavily encrypted systems when necessary, _the_ Merlin who can easily pinpoint a weakness and subsequently cause everything to crumble because of it—likes to belt out old, cheesy country songs.

Oddly enough, it’s—endearing.

_And if they call for me to come, then I must go…_

Fighting back a laugh that threatens to bubble up from deep within, Harry moves towards his opponent with the elegance, speed, and ferocity of a panther. Merlin’s voice washes over him. 

_So Mary marry me, let’s not wait…  
Let’s share all the time we can before it’s too late…_

As anticipated, one minute—two lines of song—was all he needed.

He’s almost reluctant to interrupt Merlin, but what must be done must be done. “Alright, the man is dealt with,” announces Harry. The man lies on the ground, still breathing, but incapacitated for the time being. He briefly considers tying up the man’s hands and feet, then decides against it, opting to use the amnesia function on his watch instead. He intends to be done with the mission before the man regains consciousness.

Pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his hands clean, Harry remarks, offhandedly, “Thanks for the tunes, by the way.”

“What— _what?_ ”

The silence that follows is palpable. From experience, Harry knows the look that must be on Merlin’s face at the moment: lines between his brows and on his forehead deepening out of concentration and confusion, mouth slightly ajar as he racks his brains for an answer.

“What tune?” Merlin tries again, thoroughly confused.

 Harry clamps a hand over his mouth, upper body visibly shaking as he struggles to hold in his laughter while waiting for Merlin to connect the dots. He doesn’t have to wait for long. 

“… _Shit!_ ”

That single profanity is his undoing. Harry gives up all pretence, and the sound of his unrestrained laughter bounces off the room’s walls.

“Harry. Oi Harry, _shut up._ I can hear you laughing from here.”

Grunting in affirmation, Harry buries his face in the crook of his arm—a valiant attempt, yet futile in the face of the utter mortification and embarrassment seeping through Merlin’s voice. 

“ _Harry!_ ” In what seems like a final, desperate effort to subdue Harry’s laughter, Merlin reminds him with as much severity as he can muster, “Galahad, you have a mission to complete.”

Oh, yes. A mission. He’d completely forgotten about that.

Breathe in, breathe out, Harry tells himself, repeating the mantra over and over again in his head until his breathing has almost returned to normal.

“I’m ready now,” reports Harry, voice steady.

“Climb up the stairs at the end of the corridor and enter the second door on the left.”

“Understood.” The corners of Harry’s lips quirk upwards and his eyes twinkle. He may have a mission to complete, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a bit of fun in the process.

 

* * *

 

Back in HQ, Merlin tracks Harry’s movements on the big screen, watching the green dot move towards the end of the corridor as instructed. Suddenly, the room is filled with a clear, precise tune being whistled. Merlin recognises the final bars of the chorus, and he barks out a laugh, momentarily putting aside the mortification and embarrassment he experienced earlier.

He unmutes the microphone—heaving learnt his lesson this time, he hopes—and then clears his throat. “You cheeky bastard. You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

There’s an all too smug response from Harry. “Never.” 


End file.
